May 2015

May 29, 2015

Today is my sister's due date. Actually, maybe it's tomorrow. This is not what anyone reading an infertility blog wants to read about, but hear me out.

Over the summer of 2013, my sister donated eggs to us. She is three years my junior and all her numbers looked good. Donating eggs isn't like her letting me borrow a pair of jeans-- even her best pair. It's a big deal and has significant implications for any family and any child conceived in this way. My parents had some concerns about the whole thing, but Noah and I were just so grateful. We knew our child would be our child, and we knew we would have some 'splaining to do about that child having cousins who were also essentially their half-sibling-- is that right? Yeah, that's right. See, I'm confusing myself. Noah and I knew this would be a beautiful thing, an incredible gift, and we were devastated when it didn't work. Devastated for us, but also concerned for my sister. She had never been pregnant and our RE freaked her out. The whole cycle was kind of a disaster.

Our RE suggested she freeze her eggs, as she wasn't planning on having kids any time soon. He told her about all the red flags he saw and said she could have whatever I have that caused my DOR (wish I knew what that was). I was really upset by this, but my sister didn't let on like she was very upset. I told her she should freeze her eggs and tried to think of ways we could help her pay for it. I wouldn't wish my experience on IF Island on anyone, especially my sister. But my sis just keep on living her life. She decided she wouldn't do IVF because she felt awful on the meds ,and just didn't let the information she got phase her.

Flash forward two years. She's married. She's ready to start a family. And by golly she does. With no issue. Though Noah's first response when we found out she was P was, "Oh now her eggs decide to work," I was so relieved that her eggs worked. There was nothing, is nothing wrong with her fertility. She has had a fabulously healthy pregnancy and looks like she's about read to pop any second.

I guess my point here is that doctors aren't always right. The body changes. Every cycle each month is different. And I think that's really hopefully for anyone who has been told information that scares them. This is not to say to just keep trying naturally and ignore what doctors say, I'm just saying that the body and mind change and things that seemed impossible or unlikely may not always be so. You just never know.

May 25, 2015

Ok. In all fairness. Momo doesn't hate naps. She just hates sleeping on a surface that isn't my chest. So I put her in the Baby K'Tan and wear her like a apron. All. Day. Long. Not all day, but for a lot of the day. And then I worry that I'm carrying her too much or that it might not be good for her hips or that it isn't good for her skin to be sleeping in the massive pool of sweat created between her face and my cleavage. What's going to happen when she goes back to work? And then I tell myself I won't be carrying her around like this when she's 18 years old, so it will somehow all get figured out.

Having faith that things will somehow get figured out is a really important thing to cultivate and to believe. So is trusting your instincts. I think when we are in a moment that is uncertain, there is sometimes this feeling of doubt that we will ever figure things out. I felt that way at times going through IF treatments-- when we didn't know what to do next, I sometimes felt like we were never going to figure out how to create a family. Then I became uncertain about my instincts and my decisions and it was all a hot mess. Sometimes, when I'm carrying Momo and pacing the neighborhood for the fourth time in a day, I think the same thing. Am I ever going to figure out how to get her to sleep somewhere else? It feels like the answer is no but the answer is very much yes. I have to remember I have good instincts and that somehow all will be okay. It will be okay, right? I have to get back to trusting my instincts and the first step in all that is putting all my parenting books aside (thank you to whoever suggested that!). It's information overload and at the end of the day, Momo is my kid and I'll screw things up how I want.

Momo is resilient, strong and healthy. She always has been. She was as a embryo and as a fetus (why does that word creep me out so much?) and now she is 13 lbs and 23 inches and has graduated to the next size up in diapers. Every day she is able to see the world more and is totally fascinated by everything. She is kind of obsessed with the heating/air conditioning vents that run along our ceiling. The light hits them in such a way that blows her mind and I think about how amazing it is to be experiencing life for the first time. Everything is amazing to her. A leaf waving in the wind. The annoying songs her horribly ugly play gym makes that make me want to take a hammer to it. The feeling of a super cozy blanket. It's all new and it's all amazing.

I wish we could all experience things in this way again. We can consciously try to. We can try to be mindful and we can try to take the time to be fully present and aware and appreciate all the beauty that surrounds us. I tried to do that often, especially in times of total despair. It was hard at times for sure. And now I try to do that with her-- to appreciate every moment. Time feels like it's moving so fast after years of moving so very slow.

Wishing everyone a good week ahead and hoping we can all find moments of beauty and awe.

May 22, 2015

UGH! I just spent the last hour writing a blog post and then my internet farted and it all disappeared. I'm so very depressed because a) it was somewhat coherent b) it had all these links and stuff that a techtard like me has a really hard time putting together and c) I spent an HOUR writing and I don't have an hour to do anything anymore. I haven't had five minutes to pluck my eyebrows let alone... ok. I won't cry over spilled milk. But I do. And I have. And I did just yesterday. Moving on.

Momo got her first set of shots today at her two month (I know, I can't believe it's been two months) doc appointment. Seeing the nurse bring out the tray of syringes made me want to cry but also made me flashback to my first injection. I was a wreck. I couldn't sleep the night before. I was sweating. I was afraid. I was also convinced that I would have to do eight days of them and not two years off and on, but who's counting now. As the nurse was getting ready to stab Momo, I looked away (Noah was holding her) and told myself that she won't remember this. Her present moment will become part of her past and at least she won't get whooping cough.

I realized then how much all the intensity of going through ART has become part of my own past. Many IF Island survivors that we interviewed for our documentary told us this would happen. That one day we would be on the other side and we wouldn't feel the burn of desperation. We wouldn't feel sick from not knowing when or how or if we were going to find our baby. We wouldn't feel the all consuming intensity of being so far away from something we wanted so badly. I didn't believe these survivors at the time, because the present moment for me was so painful and so intense, but now I understand that there comes a moment where your present experience slowly fades into a memory-- that perhaps comes with some valuable life lessons.

The best thing I did for myself when going through infertility was to constantly remind myself that nothing stays the same forever. That even the most painful and heartbreaking moments pass, and though it often takes time to heal or rebound or figure out how to move forward, it is possible, and the feelings change. I did that today as the nurse pulled back the syringe and stabbed it into my baby's chunky little thigh. I reminded myself that the moment will pass. The pain will pass. And we will both be okay.

Sending Friday love to anyone stranded on IF Island feeling the intensity of the present moment.

May 18, 2015

Forgive me if this is only mildly coherent. I haven't slept since...what month are we in?

So I'm completely obsessed with Momo's sleep. Mainly because all of a sudden she has decided naps are for suckers. This could be developmental. It's could be a phase. It could be that she's too interested in her senses all working now that she doesn't want to sleep. But it also could be that she is over tired. And her being overtired makes me feel awful.

I've been reading and re-reading all the early parenting books that I can-- Happiest Baby On the Block, Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, The Wonder Weeks-- and feel like I'm running in circles. The bottom line is that during the day Momo doesn't sleep well and then she is so overtired that she cries the saddest most frustrated cry ever and it makes me feel like I'm failing her. It makes me angry at myself that I didn't put her down for a nap five minutes earlier, before she became overtired. Sometimes it makes me cry the saddest most frustrated cry ever.

I keep trying to tell myself that she is young. Eight weeks now. And that I am new at all this. But the moment to moment day to day experience of trying to figure all this out can be so overwhelming-- my sense of self seems dependent on whether or not Momo takes several good naps in a day. It sounds ridiculous to write that sentence. She's young, she'll be fine. I should relax and just enjoy her. Maybe I'm projecting my own desperate need for sleep onto her. Maybe I just need to be patient.

I'm doing the best that I can right now. And that's all I can do. That's what I told myself all through IF treatments. That's what I reminded myself of all through my pregnancy. During birth I was just thinking OMG let this be over-- but I'm back to trying to convince myself that I'm doing my best and that's okay. That I'm going to make a hot mess out of some things some times and that whatever challenge we are dealing with won't be this way forever. One day Momo will be a teenager, sleeping too much and I'll be dragging her out of bed, remembering the time when I was tearing my hair out over her naps. It helps to sometimes pull back the lens on life and see the bigger picture. When we are in a tough spot, the focal point seems to narrow and nothing else matters but the situation we are facing. But if we can pull back for a moment and take a breath-- take a glance at the whole scene, we might have a different perspective.

I might be able to see that a few days of crappy sleep isn't going to kill anyone (I hope). This time period will end and another equally stressful one will take its place. So all I can do is just be with whatever is, flow with it and tell myself I'm doing the best I can.

May 15, 2015

I've been thinking a lot about my friend who I wrote about a few posts ago, who was in her two week wait after an FET of embryos made from her second (or third?) round with her second egg donor. It's a mouthful to say (or write), I can only imagine living through it. She got her beta result earlier this week and it was a no go. She texted me a single word. Negative.

My heart sank for her because it is just so unfair. That's it. It sucks and it's unfair. I remember that feeling of empty after getting a BFN. It doesn't feel real at first and then when you start thinking about all you went through just to get to that BFN.. you're left feeling sick to your stomach. There's so much build up-- physically and emotionally, and then it's just done. Game over. And you try to find answers and have something make sense and it just doesn't.

So how do we move on? How does she move on? With one frozen embryo left, she has her Lone Ranger. Her last chance for this cycle. No pressure.

I've met and talked to so many people who have endured all kinds of different...obstacles (to say the least) on their path to parenthood. I have one friend who had six miscarriages, one was a set of twins a few weeks apart. I remember talking to her early on in my own journey and feeling like there was no way I could have kept going. She told me that she would have gone through the same process in order to end up with the two kids she ended up with (one through adoption, one through an egg donor and a surrogate). Now I understand that. All the things--the terrible, painful things, somehow line up in such a way that the baby that is perhaps destined to be yours finds you. Maybe that's wishful thinking, but most people I know who have struggled and come out the other side say things to this extent. It still doesn't negate the heartbreak, though.

But we keep going because we just do. We find a way to grieve and process and let go and move forward and love and hope again and again. We find a way-- and it's different for everyone, to get back up after being knocked down time and time again. We find ways to believe in our bodies and our family-to-be and we somehow let go of past baggage to leave room for a different outcome. For some people moving forward means ending IF treatments and choosing to live child-free, that too is a resolution. But others will keep pushing on and eventually, some how, some way, we get through it. All of us are stronger than we think.

May 11, 2015

Somehow the day just goes and I feel like I'm always on a time clock to get things done. Getting to know a new human that we've brought on this earth is both amazing and stressful, and perhaps the biggest gift my years on IF Island have given me is the perspective that as challenging as having a newborn can be at times, it doesn't even compare to all the IF stuff.

Case in point. Momo wakes up several times a night to eat. That's expected. She starts this process by about 45 minutes of grunting in her bassinet, where it sounds like she's trying to pass a kidney stone. I jump up alert at the first signs of her grunts and start by looking to see if someone has replaced my baby with an obese bulldog, and then going through a series of thoughts that question whether this behavior is normal. I prepare to feed her, which means surrounding myself with several towels and the "milk saver" nipple guard and the little nightlight that I wear on my shirt to see her-- and I wait. It's 1:17am.

By 2:07am the piglet is ready. She's managed to get completely sideways in the bassinet, even though she's swaddled. Her eyes pop open and say, "woman feed me!" And I know I have about eight seconds to get her out of the swaddle and onto my boob before she screams bloody murder. As insane as it might be, I try to prevent her crying in anyway I possibly can because I think I'm hardwired to have an emotional breakdown at the first signs of her distress. That will probably change as I relax into this new role (will I ever relax into this new role?) but for now I hustle to get her into position. And then the marathon feeding begins-- where she eats voraciously, then starts grunting and flailing her body because she needs to burp, which takes about 15 minutes to do. I tap and rub her back and say things like, "your little burpie needs to find his way out, baby." I'm personifying burps at 2am and that seems completely normal. When she is too passed out to eat anymore, and her face and clothes are completely saturated in milk, I change her diaper. It sounds like a simple task in theory, but actually takes about 20 minutes because the second I get her diaper off and start to clean the situation, she pees, everywhere, including on her pajamas because I never pull them up enough. I then have to scramble to find a clean pair, trying not to wake Noah in the process. I continue to clean her diaper mess and almost have a new diaper on her when she sneezes and poops (every time!), into the clean diaper. I contemplate just using the soiled diaper but then feel terribly guilty and grab a new one, and re-wipe her down. As I try to fasten the diaper on her, she starts getting annoyed and stretches her legs out long so that I can't secure the diaper. One thing she inherited from donor genetics is long strong legs! I plead with her to "relax your legs baby" but she is having none of it and the escalating grunting is starting to happen because she realizes she's still hungry. By this point, I'm profusely sweating and the sound of Noah snoring is building a deep resentment. If she gets loud enough Noah will wake up and say, "Do you need help?" Just as I'm snapping her pajamas back on-- which I consistently snap wrong and then have to re-do-- and there are so many friggin' snaps!

YES I NEED HELP!

It's now close to 3am, and Momo is back to eating. There's a moment where I feel like all is right in the world, and then she spits up heavily all over herself, and I have to change her pajamas again, and this is the moment where I want to cry. This is the moment where Noah has to get up and get the PJ's because I just can't. This is the moment where I take a step back and think about the progesterone in oil shots. And the IVF schedule. And the daily ultrasounds. And the cancelled cycles. And the boxes of meds. This is the moment where I remember the negative betas and the day our embryos fell apart and the moment when we realized I would have to let go of my genetics. And I realize how much infertility is helping me appreciate being up in the middle of the night in a daze of milk, sweat and tears.

We get Momo changed, again. She finishes eating. It's 3:32am. I fall back asleep knowing that in about two hours I'm going to have to do this all over again. And that's ok.

May 10, 2015

I wanted to send some Sunday love today, because I know today is a trigger day for a lot of IF Islanders. While I'm ever grateful to be able to partake in Mother's Day (which basically means shoving pancakes in my face and not doing any dishes), what I think about more is all the years I spent avoiding this day. Even on the other side of the madness, today is really just another Sunday. But for me it's a reminder of how hard past years were, like 2013 and 2014-- and the years before too. And also a reminder that circumstances can make a 180 degree turn in a moment.

Sending lots of love to the many mother's out there and the many mothers-to-be, and the many mother's who have experienced loss. I actually learned recently that Mother's Day was originally created to honor bereaved mothers-- Hallmark just couldn't capitalize on that kind of holiday. I know several bereaved mothers and send them an extra shot of love this Sunday.

May 08, 2015

Yesterday, someone asked me what the worst part about “all this stuff” is. My immediate thought was that it’s all a nightmare. And it is. But it got me thinking about what really is the hardest part about infertility.

Is the worst part the physical aspect? The shots and hormones and invasive procedures? Going to the doctor every other day and being poked and prodded— the physical pain and the way your body just feels gross and heavy all the time?

Or is the worst part the emotional turmoil? The obsessive thoughts about whether the next thing will or won’t work. The torture of the two week wait and the heartbreak of a pregnancy loss or of an unsuccessful cycle. Perhaps it’s having to come to terms with the loss of genetics or of being able to carry. The emotional parts of all this are so intense and anxiety provoking. It can take perfectly sane people and make them bananas!

Perhaps the worst part is the relational aspect. The deterioration of certain relationships and the feeling of isolation as you drift farther and father away from fertile friends who have difficulty relating to you. Is it the stress between you and your partner or family, and the moments where you feel unrecognizable to even yourself. Your relationship with yourself can suffer too.

Is it the financial parts? The idea of spending tens of thousands of dollars for uncomfortable treatments you don’t want to have to do, with the knowledge that you only have a slight chance of anything working? Is it the limitations the financial constraints put on your life?

It’s all of thee above, but for me, I think the hardest part was not knowing when or if or how we were going to become parents. If someone would have told me it would take close to five years and tens of thousands of dollars and hundreds of shots and bags of medication to finally end up with Momo, I think I would have been able to handle it better. I think I would have had a clear end in sight and the confidence that what we were doing wasn’t for nothing. That’s the hardest part in my opinion—cycling through the insanity with no end in sight.

No one can tell you how or when it will end or how or when you will find your baby. But what I have learned is that if you are open about it all, there are many ways to become a parent. Sometimes you just have to keep on trucking.

Sending lots of love and luck to everyone still searching.

Also— Resolve’s Advocacy is coming up May 14. Please click on this link to fill out a letter that will go to congress to advocate for legislation to support infertility and building families in alternative ways.

May 06, 2015

Hi. Hubs here. A few weeks ago, our ONE MORE SHOT film project was highlighted as Project of the Day on Indiewire. Indwire is a film blog that highlights, you guessed it, indie films. It's a great resource and with the help of the film's fans and Maya's loyal readers, we won Project of the Week. This got us an introduction to a distribution company, something that is very important when it comes to getting the film seen down the road. This week, as I'm sure you're aware, we are up for Project of the Month. If we beat out the other films, we'll be connected with the TriBeCa Film Institute. This could put us over the top in connecting our important story with people that can help get the film seen by more people than we could on our own. So, just as a couple weeks ago, I'm asking that you please vote for One More Shot to be Project of the Month. Vote, share it on your social networks and with friends, have them vote. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

A lot of you donated to the Indiegogo campaign last month and I wanted to thank you again for doing so. Documentary films can move along in very incremental and small steps. It's part of the process. Your support has been so appreciated. Every contribution, every dollar, every time you Tweeted something about the project, has helped us move forward. I'm so excited about this and I can't wait for you to see it.

May 04, 2015

Since the moment she came out, he fell head over heels in love. His voice was the first she heard (or maybe it was mine screaming bloody murder in the background). But as the nurses were drying her off and I was getting bits of my placenta ripped out of me, Noah was talking to his baby girl, welcoming her to the world, telling her how much we love her and how long we've waited to meet her. And the love affair has continued and gotten stronger and I'm kind of a witness to it all happening. And the way he looks at her, talks to her, cares for her, proves to me that the lack of a genetic link doesn't matter.

Honestly, I worried a little bit about what it might be like-- for him. Knowing his biology was fine but agreeing to embryo donation rather than egg donation because I had a feeling about this embryo. I wondered how he would feel about the baby we would make in this way. I got the opportunity to carry, so I would be connected in a different way, the biological mother. But Noah has no genetic or biological connection and yet I don't think he could feel any more connected to this little girl. His little girl. And that makes my heart smile.

We rarely ever think about genes or embryos or any of the issues that were so pressing and so intense at one time. We are too busy thinking about how long she sleeps, when she should eat, and trying to manage my anxiety about those two things, in addition to all the other stuff I worry about like if she's too hot or too cold, near anything germ-like, etc. etc. etc. There comes this moment where the struggle of the journey becomes the past as we learn how to be with this little person who has taken over our lives (and house) in the past six weeks.

If infertility has taught us anything, it has taught Noah extreme patience, especially in dealing with me and my worries, and I have learned to be so grateful for my fears and concerns. And we have come to know that love is blind to genes or biology. At least that's what I'm observing over here, as Noah is passing out with Momo in his arms-- he's been stuck in the same position for over an hour because he doesn't want to disturb her sleep. Because he wants her to be happy and comfortable and well rested, and he will do anything for her. Because he's totally utterly in love.

May 01, 2015

I have a friend who just had an FET of two lovely embryos made from donor eggs. She is on her second donor because all the transfers with the first donor didn't work out so well. After the stimulation cycle with the first donor, her doctor told her the donor didn't have great eggs, so she had to move on to number two. This is her second (maybe third) transfer of embryos from this specific batch from donor number two.

She sent me pictures of the embryos a few days ago and it made me think about how unfair it seems to invest in a donor only to be told her eggs are no good after you've gone through the process (and paid for it!) It's not like there is a refund policy on "faulty" donor eggs. Actually, there is at a few places, but every few. I know several people who have gone through several donors-- it is just so frustrating that you've gone so far as to get a donor-- at least that should work!

Seeing my friend's embryo pictures reminded me of our various sets of embryos. Actually there was only one set of embies-- a trio that I had silly Sanskrit names for because I was going through a yoga teacher training at the time and the names felt appropriate. And then there was the Lone Ranger, the last frozen day 6 embryo from our IVF cycle with my sister's donated eggs. Each one of these little soap bubble looking cluster of cells represented so much hope for us, that when none of them worked it really was devastating. But now I think back and realize that if one of them did work we wouldn't have Momo, and I can't imagine that at all. Things had to play out exactly how they did for us to be where we are I suppose. We ended up with the baby that is 100% our baby.

But I've been thinking about my friend and her FET and I just wish so badly that this finally works for her. Sometimes the process for people is so grueling it feels like enough already! I felt that way for us when the Lone Ranger, what felt like our last hope, didn't take. But Noah reminded me to always keep a diamond in my mind and I did my best. And eventually I found my diamond.

Sending so much love and luck to anyone out there still searching for their diamond.